Pieces of Autumn by Mara Black

rage.
    "You want to explain this?"
    He threw something at me. A pile of wrinkled, yellow newsprint, and I flinched away in spite of myself. His eyes burned into mine, showing true fury.
    I looked down at the paper, at the little blurb he'd circled in red pen. I knew it well. I didn't have to read the words, but I did anyway, letting my eyes drift over the familiar paragraph that summed up the worst day of my life.
    Finally, the last line.
    Autumn, their fifteen-year-old daughter, remains missing. Presumed dead.
    I swallowed.  
    "What is this?" I managed to whisper.
    Tate let out a scornful laugh. "You think they didn't tell me your name, Autumn Laramie?" He stalked up to me, jabbing a finger at the article. I flinched. "What happened that day?"
    Taking a deep breath, I kept my eyes fixed on his finger. "Apparently, I died."
    The sharp connection of his palm against my cheek came so hard, so fast, that I had no time to react. He slapped me. Hard, without mercy or remorse.
    "Do you realize what you've done?" he demanded. "Do you have any idea what's going to happen now?"
    I shrugged, feeling the heat bloom across my cheek. "Probably nothing good."
    "That's for God damn sure, Autumn," he snarled, snatching the paper away and throwing it on the floor. "You witnessed a crime by the most ruthless, notorious street rat fuck of this century - and you got away from him . You've been on the run for five years, and you didn't think that was worth telling?" His tone was harsh and mocking. "Thought you'd keep that little detail to yourself, did you? Wouldn't want to burden me with the knowledge, after all."
    My breathing sounded harsh in my own ears. I stared at him, guilt and shame crawling through my veins. He was right. He was absolutely right to be angry, but I still felt furious, rebelling against his unjust treatment of me. I might have used him, but he'd used me much worse.
    "Didn't think it mattered," I said. "Birdy doesn't care about witnesses."
    Tate laughed again, chilling me thoroughly. My nipples pricked against the bodice of my dress. "Lies upon lies. What else haven't you told me?"
    I exhaled sharply, looking at his raised hand. Daring him to do it again.
    "Think carefully," he warned.
    Unlike Stoker - apparently - Birdy still had to deal with the law. If I'd ever chosen to testify, if he ever actually went to trial for anything, he'd rot in prison for the rest of his life. It was worse than ever now, everyone languishing five or six to a cell, never enough food, the guards not bothering to stop the inmates from thinning out their own ranks. Birdy had a lot of enemies. He wouldn't last long.
    He was afraid of me. I'd evaded him, and I'd kept evading him, month after month, year after year. We both knew it couldn't last forever. One of us would slip up, and it would most likely be me. But until then, I refused to give in.
    I would survive, no matter what.
    "That's it," I said, flatly. "Birdy wants to kill me. I'm sure if you got in touch with him, he'd pay you a handsome finder's fee."
    Tate's lips thinned, his eyes flashing anger. "Shut up," he snapped. "That smart mouth of yours has already gotten you into enough trouble. I suggest you learn how to keep it quiet."
    "I'm not being sarcastic," I said, quietly. "He really will pay you. Booze, pills, whatever you're into. I'm sure he wouldn't be hard to find."
    "For God's sake, shut your fucking mouth before I shut it for you." Tate was pacing the room again, fists clenched at his sides. "How am I supposed to believe you, when you lied to me already? What else aren't you telling me?"
    "Nothing," I insisted, feeling cold, empty despair claw out whatever was left in my chest. " Nothing ."
    He paused in his pacing, turning suddenly to look at me. "How long?" he demanded. "How much longer do you think you have, before he tracks you down?"
    I shrugged. "I was hoping that Stoker would hit the reset button on that. Whatever else they are, I've heard they'll protect their